Friday February 16

I won’t be put off. Stuart may be suffering from his usual lack of vision, but I won’t allow that to get in the way of what may be the most important decision of our lives… to join the twenty first century! We have the chance to make a major investment, to plan for our future, and what does Stuart do? Head in the sand! My husband has inherited half his genes from an ostrich. His tendency is to hide in the face of difficulty, but decisive action has always characterised my dynamic personality. The true shame is that my skills go unrecognized. I could say this applies to all the males in this particular whanau. Julian demonstrates a similar casual indifference when it comes to acknowledging just how much I do to hold this family together, like father like son! My hope is that Ollie, our darling wee boy, might benefit from the additional quality time I’ve devoted to his wellbeing, and see beyond the horizon which marks the limit of his father’s world.

OK. Where are we? We have an aggressively painful nuisance called Arthur Short living next door who misses no opportunity to interfere with my purchase of his dwelling, even though its not even his… we have a truly irritating burgeoning love-interest between Julian and that tawdry little slapper Amber who’ll be his downfall if I let things go on another minute, and moreover we have an embarrassing public display of disunity while my husband is licking his wounds and hiding out at Spencer’s house… Spencer – now there’s an odd specimen, he’s really no more than a savant with a scalpel, a big baby whose mental development was retarded at fourteen from excessive masturbation, who’s making millions tinkering with what nature got wrong while dashing from one twenty year old bimbo to the next. Sometimes I wonder if Stuart doesn’t try to model himself – unsuccessfully – on this sad old chum from his medical school days. And sometimes I wonder if I don’t wish I’d made a different choice and taken up with Spencer…. No! Just a joke!! Although I am sure Spencer would be an easier mate to deal with than Stuart, who hovers between sweet loving husband and socially retarded basketcase… I don’t really mean that, but believe me, I’m furious at him for not being here.

I cannot believe how silly I was the other night. Bonnie has to take responsibility, getting me so tiddly on pinot noir before she finally went home, god she was here for hours going on and on and on about the thrill of having sex with her freakish husband… then she abruptly abandoned me and all I could think of to do was… Damon… Damon Strauss… how that name makes me quiver. Actually right now that name makes me feel more queasy than quivery. I really did embarrass myself with that musclebound dingbat, like walking into the most obvious love-trap without a clue of what was going on. He took advantage of me! I’ll have to change gym. I’ll ask for a refund! No, that might mean explaining why. You see this is just what happens when your husband runs and hides from reality, abandoning you in your moment of need, leaving hound dogs like Damon to come snapping up your backside… thank God no-one knows about this. Pure humiliation. And if I’m right, if it was Julian who stole the $200 I put in my purse... Just when I was trying to save face and pay off that creep for his services. God he was good. But I’ll never admit that.

Now Ollie’s been saved from those two drugged-up English models – thanks Stuart, for another inappropriate choice of childcare – and now that Julian has stopped fighting in the playground at his new school and giving himself and everyone else a headache, MAYBE we can get on with our lives. Stuart’s still around at Spencer’s, reliving the fantasy of being an unmarried man with no responsibilities, but in the meantime I’m waiting with baited breath to hear from Eric that my offer on Number 11 has been successful. Because if it is – Phase Two, get rid of Arthur, and let my Ponsonby life really begin.